Just like how regular family holidays trigger everyone’s homesickness, Ramadhan – the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar – does the same to our fellow Muslim Ateneans. This holy month is a religious rite not only dedicated to the act itself but one that is heavily associated with the presence of loved ones and a sense of community – things that are somewhat beyond the reach of a Muslim student studying miles away from their hometown.
It makes one wonder, really, how a Muslim student copes with getting accustomed to the loneliness that comes after being subjected to such familial tradition for all one’s life. From being wakened up by your mother or sometimes your sibling (who for some reason provokes your fight or flight response more than anyone) at 4 in the morning to eat Suhoor, the pre-dawn meal before fasting, to waking up to a repetitive series of alarm tones, or if time permits, sometimes a phone call from home. From waking up to meals already prepared on the table and plates circulating it to having to prepare everything by yourself: one plate, one bowl, one glass in a quiet dormitory room.
Fasting, or Sawm (صَوْم) in Arabic, is one of the five pillars of Islam. By fasting, this does not only mean refraining from consuming food or drinking water. In the Islamic context, the non-consuming part is only the surface-level essence of fasting for more than the food itself; fasting also obliges a Muslim to abstain from false speech, including backbiting and gossiping, which is just as hard, if not harder than not eating at all. This spiritual practice is a form of worship, a way to practice patience and learning the value of sacrifice, humility, and empathy. For the whole month, which alternately goes from 29-30 days depending on the new moon sightings, Muslims are obligated to live the tradition of fasting before the first light of dawn until the setting of the sun.
With the demanding schedule of the semester on top of the geographical distance, Muslim students cannot go home even if they want to. A first-year nursing student from the Ateneo de Davao University whose homeland is all the way back to Cotabato City shares that this is her first Ramadhan away from her family. According to her, this is a big adjustment as she is used to being with her family.
“Typically, kumakain ako with my family at home and very seldomly, sa mga handaan with relatives. Ito ang first time ko mag-live away from my family and first Ramadhan ko rin without them; So, this is a very big adjustment in college,” she admits.
These adjustments stir a deep longing for the little moments that made Ramadhan at home special. The quiet tap on the door before dawn, a mother’s voice gently coaxing everyone awake for Suhoor, the clinking of spoons against bowls of warm soup—each memory now feels like a distant memory, playing softly in the background of a new reality. Back home, Iftar was a celebration, filled with laughter, the passing of dates from one hand to another, and the comforting presence of family. Now, the silence of a dorm room or a hurried meal between classes takes its place.
And what keeps the blues away is that by the end of the day, there is no loud kitchen to participate in; no kids hanging over the dining table because no one’s more excited for Iftar than the kids who have been eating all day long; no panic-grabbing kitchen utensils because it’s only an hour left before the Adhan (Islamic call to prayer); no pinpointing between siblings on who gets to hand over food trays to neighbors; no mountain of post-Iftar dishes to complain about. And when the sun sets, Iftar appears differently as well; no crowded dinner table full of family and no plates being passed around with love.
Rather, the actuality of Ramadhan in a foreign place is a can of tuna quickly cooked in the stillness of a college dormitory room, a fast food delivery in time to be consumed minutes before Fajr, or a hastily eaten meal at a community Iftar drive with strangers who become our temporary family for the night. There’s no soft rap on the door telling you to rise, no sound of laughter in the kitchen—just the light of a phone screen and the muted thrum of a city that never sleeps. That’s when it hits you: an emptied cup will permanently be stained by what’s previously filled it.
The struggle also goes beyond hunger, thirst and longing—it is the fight against time. Evening classes conflict with Taraweeh prayers, assignments accumulate where minutes of worship need to be, and sleep is forfeited for study and Suhoor. The fatigue kicks in, eyes brimming with weariness, yet there’s an unspoken determination to persevere. Some pray between pages of textbooks; others in hushed Duas (prayer of supplication) before sunrise. Ramadhan, in this setting, is a lesson in sacrifice—not just of food and drink but of comfort, routine, and ease.
Even in solitude, there is a sense of new discipline, of knowing that faith isn’t comfort but commitment. There is grace in this challenge—sharpening a date with a classmate who rushed from a lecture hall as well, seeking comfort in a crowded mosque, or merely coming to understand that even in separation, religion is a unifying force.
Beyond individual struggles, Ramadhan at Ateneo is also a time of strengthened Muslim solidarity. Datu Izzat Hoffer Ampatuan, the president of SALAM – The Ateneo Muslim Society, shared how this sense of belonging is especially evident in the various Ramadhan events held on campus.
“Of course, being a Muslim leader, it is very fulfilling to see the Muslim community here in Ateneo growing especially in the month of Ramadhan. So, we see brothers who don’t really pray, they start praying and join the community. Not also sa Taraweeh prayers but also sa mga Ramadhan events like Istiqbal Ramadhan, Communal Iftars, and of course we also had our community Iftar where – nagpakain tayo sa outside community dito sa Davao City [we shared food packs with an outside community here in Davao City],” Ampatuan said.
Amid the challenges, there is a deeper appreciation for the month’s essence. The exhaustion is real, but so is the reward. In the stillness of the night, as one takes the last sip of water before another long fast begins, there is an undeniable sense of purpose. Ramadhan spent outside of home is not so much missing the family traditions; it’s about learning individual resilience, seeing the community in unexpected places, and proving to oneself that religion isn’t about location—it resides within.
While it is in our nature as humans to reminisce about the good old times, may we still be reminded that where we are is where we are supposed to be: We have goals to chase and a life to look forward to. In the same breath, remember that anywhere you go, Ramadhan will always be Ramadhan. Its inherent blessedness is not circumstantial. It will not be better or worse based on the differing realities we are in, but on our intention and actions.
The essence of Ramadhan lies within us.